What It Boils Down to
by Pollux Unbound
Summary: IchigoxOrihime. As Ichigo dives into the pit of Aizen’s design, he discovers why he can’t get himself to think of anything besides her. Oneshot. IchiHime. This sucks.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Bleach; genius Kubo Tite does.

**Warning**: This sucks and is cheesy.

Except for the eerie and treacherous darkness, the motionless, seemingly nonexistent draft, and the view of the monotonously stark landscape and the utterly monumental Las Noches Palace, the crawling hours had nothing more to offer. Telling the exact time in Hueco Mundo was next to impossible: the sky was permanently pitch-black and had, perhaps, never had a taste of the flavor of the sun, but the ground and everything that sat upon it had an unearthly glow that neither came from their mystic paleness nor from the ever present moon. A sense of unreality was growing more profound for every second he spent in that dimension/world.

He lied listlessly on the vast, deserted outdoor, the sand of which was as fine and white as sugar and the glare it could potentially produce under a sun would most likely be harmful to the eyes. By now, he was fully capable of grasping how soft a whisper could get, for he had been constantly uttering various and numerous reminders to himself. Sizing up the hours he had mastered too; staring off to open space for minutes on end had provided him enormous assistance for this activity. He couldn't care less for whatever threat might come within his vicinity; for all he knew, he could traverse past the greatest of obstacles for her.

He would stay still for long, collecting sufficient energy to permit long and grueling minutes of covering the distance from where he was to the palace, to where she was. Being alone was not something he was entirely accustomed to, and now in this alien world the feeling of seclusion was almost tangibly magnified to ten times its original amount. Also, the lack of visual assurance that she was safe and unhurt only aggravated his recently acquired paranoia over her unknown state. He couldn't ask for anything more than her safety.

Kurosaki Ichigo stood up at last, wrapping up the final procedure of his sentimental musings, and plunged head-on closer to danger. He assumed a vigilant guard as he traipsed swiftly by the passages of the palace without submitting to unnecessary delays. He simply could not afford the temptations of tarrying any longer now that seeing her was looming closer to reality. And he continued to think of her, laying aside her alleged betrayal against Soul Society, something he never even dreamed of believing from the start.

Every barren corridor, empty chamber, and abandoned staircase only spelled the hazards of the unknown; enemies could be lurking anywhere, anticipating their prey, and traps and snares could be inches away, ready to snatch him from his stance. He would smite foes, dodge attacks, and avoid ambushes, as if every adversary was a mere recurring event rendered easy by its redundancy. But they mattered not, for with him were thoughts of her, renewing every drop of spent stamina.

Finally, he came to know that the fear residing in his chest that was partially staunching his spirit was strictly the fear of not seeing her again, and the bitterness and disappointment brewing beneath this dreadful idea were the consequences of her sudden disappearance from the real world, her departure that was signaled by the mending of his battle wounds. _She could've left me a note_, he thought. This train of thoughts was sequenced by his questioning of his value to her. It was rather, selfish, even childish, but the question persisted still. He only wished he was someone of enough importance to draw a smile on her face upon their expected meeting. But nothing could be more certain than him forgetting these grievances the moment he would lay eyes on her again at long last.

He would rescue her and escape with her; that was the main priority. He would save her from this barren wasteland, which was too ugly for her magnificence. He would hold her for as long as necessary and the slightest or even the imaginary hint that she wished to hold him too would be enough to guarantee an unfading bliss. He would never release her from his gaze again, forever, if he could manage.

That was his plan, for she was ever more than the whole world to him.

**END**


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